


Modern Wonders

by Eilinelithil



Category: Alice (TV 2009), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Drug Use, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Exploitation, F/M, Pining, Psychological Torture, Reconciliation, Recreational Drug Use, Revenge, Torture, UST, Violence, Wonderland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold, and when Regina casts Rumple's Dark Curse, just a few words here and there creates Storybrooke in a very different place, with a very different atmosphere, and very different issues to deal with. Alliances and enmity permeate the lives of the citizens of Storybrooke, (and beyond), as they tiptoe around the various dangers they face every day. Who is awake? How can they break the curse within a curse? And what of the power struggles rife both within, and outside of Storybrooke itself.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	Modern Wonders

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that includes elements of the 2009 TV show, produced by SyFy called simply 'Alice,' with is a reimagining of the Wonderland story. If you haven't seen the show (Alice (2009), you can search and watch on Youtube.
> 
> It was inspired by @peacehopeandrats - thank you Phand'r!

As bluebirds went it was a pretty piss-poor specimen. That probably had something to do with the fact that it wasn’t a one at all, but at least it was a bird, and it was flying, pretty fast too, almost as if…

The watcher shielded his eyes and looked in the direction the bird had come from. He sighed heavily as he watched the steel banded airship gliding in over the mist-topped mountains, heedless of the tall tree’s he knew were hidden in the mist. Like some giant, silent, woodlouse, it went, heading for the many towered, many spired city that floated on the lake. He knew what it was, where it was going, and what was contained in the boxes that hung on thick, black metal ropes beneath the belly of the beast.

He shuddered, and counted them under his breath, “…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…” a good haul. He shuddered again, pitying the poor bastards that were being flown to their mindless bliss.

The bird-that-wasn’t-a-bluebird wheeled in the sky and flew across his field of vision, between him and the airship. He took a breath. “No fucking rainbow either,” he told the sorry creature, but then… no point thinking of rainbows. This wasn’t Oz. He’d rather _be_ in Oz than here, and for just one second he considered abandoning his mission, tossing down his hat and going…?

“Anywhere but here,” he answered the unasked question in the same low and dangerous voice in which he’d counted - albeit a whisper then, but no. He couldn’t let himself do that. What he had to do was important, might well save so much pain in the long run.

With another sigh, Jefferson dropped his hat back onto his head, and set off along the narrow pathway toward the docks with a determined stride.

* * *

**_The Enchanted Forest - many years ago_ **

He looked behind him to check that he wasn’t being followed, then Jefferson tossed back the tails of his _borrowed_ coat before stepping into the shadows between two of the buildings that framed the marketplace. He knew better than to call out; draw attention to the two of them now in the gathering darkness. Instead he melted against the wall hiding even _his_ tall frame from sight until a figure detached itself from the darkness nearby.

“You took your time,” the voice attached to the figure said. “Trouble?”

Jefferson scoffed. “It’s _because_ I took my time that there was _no_ trouble,” he said, and from the deep pocket of his coat he drew the article of jewelry - stolen of course, and of immense value - that had once belonged to the daughter of a local nobleman, and handed it over to the man still half hidden in the shadows.

The man turned it this way and that, and whistled softly, before casually tossing a purse full of coins in Jefferson’s direction. He caught it deftly, and then moved his coat carefully to one side while he affixed the pouch to his belt before covering it with his tailcoat again.

He nodded to the shadowy figure and asked, “Anything else?”

“I’ll be in touch.” The answer melted into the shadows again, as if fading away on a breeze.

Jefferson took a deep breath, ready to head home, a smile coming to his face as he thought of his beautiful wife. It was enough to put a spring into any man’s step.

“You really should take more care of your things.”

The almost playful, sing-song, impish voice sounded from the mouth of the alley, and with his heart in his mouth, beating hard enough to choke him, the thief spun around, pulling the knife from his boot, he brandished it toward the direction of the voice.

The man on whom he laid eyes was twirling the purse the fence had given to him in return for the stolen necklace. Jefferson’s free hand fly to his waist, finding, indeed, that the purse was missing, The other man was small and almost as flamboyantly dressed as he himself. The hair around the man’s face - at least he thought it was a man - was unruly, wavy, and he had a face covered with scales that sparkled in the light it caught from what remained of the fading daylight. It was his eyes, though, that captured Jefferson, and put apprehension in his racing heart.

The man raised an arm and pointed at him with a finger so clawed it looked more like some kind of beastly talon, and his face creased into an amused sneer.

“What do you expect to do with _that_ toothpick?” he said, and before Jefferson could answer swirled his already raised hand as if trying to attract the scent of a good meal. 

Jefferson’s head snapped one way and then the other, watching in mounting fear as the purple fog whorled first around his ankles, then his legs, and torso, before finally engulfing him, obscuring the world from sight.

When the mist cleared, Jefferson found himself standing in what looked like the great hall of some grand castle.

* * *

Decades of apparating from place to place gave Rumplestiltskin the advantage. He was not disoriented when the great hall of the Dark Castle came suddenly into view, and as such he was moving before the man he had brought with him had stopped swiveling his head from one side to the other as if it were on a stick.

He’d been _watching_ the thief, he had come to know was called Jefferson, for some time, impressed by the man’s skill in appropriating what was not his to take; his ability to find his way into, and safely _out_ of, hard to reach places. To see him so unsettled, like this, struck him as highly entertaining.

Amused, he set the man’s dagger down on top of the long table that graced the center of the room, and began to walk toward the fireplace, igniting a warming fire with the wave of a hand as he did so, and dropping himself into a large armchair that also appeared in the same moment - one of two, separated by a circular table bearing a silver tray with a tea pot and tea service upon it.

“Well, don’t just stand there gawping,” he almost sang in a teasing voice. “Come. Sit. We have things to discuss.”

“But you…” Jefferson’s stupor seemed to ease, but gave way to a stuttering address. “You’re… you’re the dark one!”

“Yes, yes…” Rumplestiltskin waved a hand as if it bored him to consider it, then added, with far more intrigue, “and you’re about to become… a very fortunate man.”

He gestured again toward the vacant chair as her made himself more comfortable and crossed his legs, raising an eyebrow at the master thief.

“There’s… nothing I need,” Jefferson answered, though, Rumplestiltskin noted, he did move toward the chair. “I know the danger in making deals with you.”

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth in a very wide, but silent, ‘oh’ as though offended, placing a hand over his chest, and then almost sorrowfully said, in a plummy kind of voice “You wound me, Sir!” Then, as Jefferson lowered himself gingerly onto the edge of the seat, seemingly ready to bolt at the slightest cause, leaned forward and in a nasally, confidential voice added, “Besides, what I have in mind is more of a, uh… _business proposal_.”

“Business proposal?”

“Yes,” he answered, drawing out the word and, with a snap of his fingers, filled the pot with steaming, fragrant tea. He took the time to pour the tea into the two matching blue and white cups, before fixing Jefferson with a level stare as he held out one of the cups, on its matching saucer, in his direction. “You know - I pay you to do something for me. All business. Much like your friend out there.”

He could feel the man was doubtful in the way he took the saucer - hesitant and carefully. “If I already _have_ an employer,” Jefferson’s voice was full of resentment as he named the man from the alley as such, “why would I want, or need another one?”

“Because, Dearie,” Rumplestiltskin sat back in his chair, cup held delicately between finger and thumb of his right hand, and with his left he tossed a pouch that was easily three times heavier than when he had appropriated it from Jefferson’s belt, toward his guest. Jefferson caught, without even spilling a drop of his tea. Rumplestiltskin pointed a scaly finger at Jefferson as the man looked up at him in surprise. “I pay better.”

He waited, sipping his tea and watching out of the corner of his eye as the obviously astounded man unfastened the pouch and peeked inside; completely vulgar to do so in front of a client, but Rumplestiltskin could forgive him that - so long as he got what he wanted.

“Consider it a down payment,” he suggested, drawing Jefferson’s attention back to his face.

“All right,” Jefferson said cautiously. “What is it that you want me to do?”

In lieu of an answer, Rumplestiltskin looked him up and down, before declaring, “You know what you need with an outfit like that?” Jefferson merely frowned in confusion, so Rumplestiltskin told him anyway - summoning the item in question from up in his work room with a simple thought, before holding it out in Jefferson’s direction as he said, “A hat.”

* * *

**_Present Day - Wonderland_ **

Light and sound, mechanical jangles, and the call of voices made a sensory cacophony around her, and yet she felt unnaturally still and calm amid it all. It didn’t feel right, and the part of her mind that still remained insulated from the otherworldly state in which she found herself, shrank away from the uncomfortable dissonance.

She looked down at her hand, and the chips held tightly in it, her knuckles white. They weren’t supposed to be that white. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way, so tense, so confused.

“So… wrong,” she whispered under her breath.

“What was that, love…?” The croupier in front of her asked, and she looked up at to see the frown on his face. That drew a frown to her own. There weren’t supposed to _be_ frowns in this place. She looked around herself, at all of the people standing by slot machines, and card tables… the game with the dice - craps, she remembered it was called - and the others at the Roulette wheel beside and opposite her. Everyone was smiling. Everyone’s face was full of bliss.

“Nothing, I…” she spoke with the same confusion, the same vague awareness that made her suddenly look down at her feet - her bare feet.

“…Malcolm at table three,” the sound of the croupier’s voice made her look up again - _why are my feet naked? Where are my shoes?_ \- “We’ve got another one.”

He was speaking into what looked like a black, legless insect attached to the front of his jacket, on his lapel, nearby to the pocket that was adorned with the red heart symbol.

“No, no, no,” she said quickly. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“That’s what they all say, dear,” he answered, not at all kindly, as she started almost frantically looking around herself. _Dear… not enough, something more_.

She stopped suddenly, a new frown coming to her face. “But I was coming back… coming to…” as she spoke a door behind her opened, and two men marched through. They were dressed in crisp white uniforms of some kind - pants and a long smock. They took her arms and she fought them, repeating, “No… No, but I was coming back!” Though she couldn’t remember to where or why.

“Yes, coming back,” one of the two men crooned as they began to drag her back toward the door, “It will all be all right.”

“The usual?” one man said to the other.

“That’ll be right,” he answered. “Up her dose a little bit, and then let her rest in solitary for a few days. She’ll soon be fit to get back to the casino floor.”

“Please, I was coming back!” she insisted, and as she tried to catch hold of the door frame to prevent herself from being dragged away, she opened her hand, spilling her red and blue chips everywhere, watching in horrible fascination as they fell toward the hard floor.

She flinched, words of apology tumbling from her as the vision of a falling teacup replaced the chips from her hand.

_”I’m so sorry,” she stammered,” but uh… it’s… it’s chipped.” She held up the cup in her hand, assuring, “You… you can hardly see it.”_

“It’s just a cup,” Belle whispered, not knowing where the words came from, as the men succeeded in dragging her through the door and away.

* * *

Jefferson looked first one way and then the other as he stood against the wall beside the ramshackle looking entrance that was, he thought sarcastically, the perfect design for the entrance to a thriving casino. He shuddered then. Not the kind of place he’d want to, or would - under normal circumstances - be trying to break _into_. He only hoped his contact on the _inside_ wasn’t going to let him down.

He never _could_ tell in this gods forsaken realm.

He reached out, and with the side of his fist hammered once, twice, three times on the seemingly broken down door, which after a moment opened to reveal a small head darting back and forth as its owner looked around, before grabbing a hold of Jefferson by the arm and dragging him inside.

“You have to hurry,” the twitchy little man told him, holding out a smock and a pair of shoes.

“Hurry why?” Jefferson asked darkly. “What’s going on?”

“Couple of days ago, she started a kerfuffle on the casino floor. Roulette croupier, Malcolm reported her and they took her away for treatment. She was raving about… coming back, or something.”

Jefferson swore softly, slipping out of his coat which he rolled into a ball, and placed into a hollow space in the base board of the room, before pulling on the white smock over his otherwise flamboyant clothing. The shoes he carried in his hand and followed the little cockroach as he scurried along the corridor leading the way, and then, when he stopped, Jefferson strode on past and kept walking as though he belonged.

He reached the desk, beyond which he could see the doors to several rooms - rooms he knew to be ones of confinement - and smiled at the stern looking woman behind the desk, waiting for his accomplice to begin the agreed upon fuss. The woman did not return his smile.

Counting under his breath, he tried to come up with something to head off any suspicion the woman might have if he just stood there waiting, just as tension began to pick at the base of his neck, the little weasel came through with his much needed diversionary trick.

“What in the name of—”

The woman got up from her chair, and started toward the side of the desk, to come around, but Jefferson held up a hand.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he said. “They warned they might have to bring someone down here today. Some woman fussing about her boy she thinks she lost.”

“I better prepare the paperwork then, I suppose,” she huffed. She turned away from Jefferson, to a file cabinet in the corner that held up a spindly looking tree in a planter. He let her continue long enough to pull the small vial he’d palmed when he took off his own coat, and slipped beneath the cuff of his shirt.

The cursive on the label read, _”bliss”_ and he wasted no time in sipping its content into the woman’s tea cup.

“I don’t think you need to rush,” Jefferson said as the noise continued. “Seems to be taking them some time to bring her along.” He gave her another smile as she turned back. “I’m sure you’ll have time to… finish your drink while it’s still warm.”

As if he had reminded her, she picked up the cup and took a large swig, lowering herself into her chair as she did.

“And you,” she snapped. “What are _you_ doing down here?”

“Me?” Jefferson asked, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He watched as the woman’s face began to go slack… as the bottled bliss slowly took hold. “Oh, I take it you haven’t heard about me then… shame…”

The woman didn’t respond. Her eyes glazed, seeing far into the distance of her imagination, ignorant of the world around her. Jefferson reached across the desk for her keys, picked up her overcoat from where it hung over the side of her workstation, and then as he passed her, leaned down to almost whisper in her ear with low menace, “Didn’t you know… Hatter knows best.”

* * *

The ‘medicine’ they gave to Belle did not take away the dissonance - the very real belief that something was not right in the world. That she shouldn’t be there. That she didn’t belong. All it did was make her groggy, and insensible… numb.

She didn’t even look up when the door opened, at least not for several seconds, several heartbeats. Not until she sensed the movement in the doorway; realized the shape of her visitor was not the same as that of her jailer, did she raise her head to see the weirdly familiar, unfamiliar man standing on the threshold of her cell with his hand extended to her.

“Come with me,” he said, and his voice was soft and in a strange, vague kind of way, also familiar.

“Who are you?” she asked, confusion in every cell of her being.

“My name is Jefferson,” he said. “And I need your help to do something that I can’t.”


End file.
